It’s true: life is very unfair. At times it’s wonderful, at times it’s awful. And since I’ve been diagnosed with kidney stones it’s been painful. After five lithotripsies, I believe my doctor has finally blasted the stone away. The past week has been fraught with nausea, constipation, and pain. I haven’t been able to properly take care of my son. He’s reached out to me with his tiny two-year-old arms and buddha belly and said “Mom, down!” (his way to getting me off the bed and onto the floor to play cars). I’ve had to decline.
This situation is temporary, and in comparison to a pregnant woman suffering with Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG), it’s truly nothing. Yet the anxiety and fear I’ve spiraled into has enveloped me like a tornado. In the middle of the tornado are two sides to my psyche battling for control: Logic, with its reticent personality tells me that I can do anything. Of course I can survive another HG pregnancy. It was terrible and will be terrible again. But suffering through a full nine months of illness is certainly do-able, especially given the joy of bringing another life into the world. Heart, with its power to overwhelm my being, cowers in the corner confessing all fears binding its fragile grasp on normalcy. Heart whispers that I will become a bad parent, ruin the bond I have with my son, push my husband past the point of exhaustion caring for us both, and suffer even worse than I did when expecting my son.
Heart spurs me to spend hours after my bedtime frantically skimming journal articles, asking questions on Facebook groups, and chasing down every random medication that might lessen or prevent this extreme morning sickness from happening again. Logic reminds me that I am in good hands- that I have a wonderful doctor, a supportive husband, and a caring God. Logic tells me that, even if I will suffer, I will survive.
Right now, I am scared. And there is so much to fear. But I am trying to hope, to not give up, to continue pressing on. And so I’ll continue drawing up battle plans. For me, there is no alternative.
Please, tell me how you came to grips with pursuing another child despite the likelihood that you would get HG again?
It’s been a little over two years since I delivered my wonderfully healthy baby boy. I’ve been awash in the stress of life as a working mom, wife, and teacher. Yet not a day passes that I don’t think of you, my sisters in suffering. Hyperemesis gravidarum, or HG, is a temporary condition but it does leave an impact on its sufferers. If you’re in the middle of an hg pregnancy and dreaming about life without this debilitating condition, here’s a look from someone two years out.
Here’s the good news:
I have not experienced the nausea, fatigue, and vomiting (nvp) I did when I was pregnant since I delivered my child. Not once.
I have a happy, healthy, normal son who has brought me more joy than I ever imagined possible.
I am a stronger person than I once was. The feeling that I can survive anything has not left me.
Yet life is not perfect. I don’t expect it to be, but I hadn’t counted on these hurdles:
I had the stomach flu last year and the four times I vomited brought me back to that very dark place when it felt like the nausea and vomiting would never end.
As much as my husband and I want another child, thinking of being pregnant makes me feel nauseous. Seriously.
The fear of experiencing hyperemesis gravidarum again scares me.
So if you’re slogging your way through an hg pregnancy, reach for the hope that you will survive. I did, and I know many others who have as well. It is difficult, this business of bringing life into the world– even without hg. Yet it is possible to make it through the days, weeks, and months of sick. Avoid the soft slide into isolation by surrounding yourself with your supporters– friends, family, nurses, and spouses. When it comes to food, try everything you can. If you can keep down Pringles, Jolly Ranchers, and V-8 (the hg safe foods early in my pregnancy) then so be it. Distract yourself from the illness. If that means watching every season of Desperate Housewives, reading the Twilight Series again, or knitting everyone’s Christmas presents in July then do it. But most important, remember Buzz Light Year’s motto: Never give up, never surrender. You CAN survive this. And two years from now, when you’re chasing after a toddler whose favorite word is “no,” you’ll understand: life is not perfect, but you’re strong enough to face anything that comes your way.
When you spend most of your day in the bathroom, heaving up the crackers and ginger ale your mother just knew would make you feel better, it’s difficult to look on the bright side of things. When you have hyperemesis gravidarum, you barely have strength to get to the toilet let alone summon the energy needed to vomit for the tenth time that day. As if the constant nausea and hyper salivation weren’t enough, you’re saddled with common pregnancy complaints: swelling, back pain, perhaps carpal tunnel in your wrists. No one understands why you’ve isolated yourself from the world, no one understands that you’ve already tried every form of ginger and anti-nausea wives tale that exists. Hyperemesis gravidarum makes it impossible to see any silver lining in the cloud of nausea that follows you 24/7.
And yet… is there a bright side? When you’re fighting a chronic condition like hyperemesis gravidarum, it’s nearly impossible to remove yourself from the debilitating condition you’re in. I encourage you to try, even for a miniscule moment, to push aside how you feel and think about your future. When the baby comes, this illness will go away. You have hope. There is a light ahead of you. You have to battle through the darkness to get there, but there is no other disease I can think of that offers a happy ending like hyperemesis gravidarum. When you deliver your child, you will have conquered your foe. There is no other ending.
So today, my sisters in suffering, try your best to keep the future in mind. Yes, your body is dragging you down and telling you that something is terribly wrong. Yes, everything hurts and you feel miserable and this isn’t the pregnancy experience you had imagined. Accept those things and focus on the road ahead. It’s dark, difficult, and lonely. It’s not easy. But that road leads to a beauty and joy that has the power to erase the suffering you’re enduring. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other and believe.
I’ve accepted it: life doesn’t get easier. We trick ourselves into thinking that a new car, house, partner, or job will lead us to a happier, easier life. I’m still caught up in this cycle. I seem to need a hope, something to keep me going. I think that’s how many of us were made. Often, when that hope or dream is realized, it rarely solves my problems. Yet there is something about the journey that is rewarding; a sharpening of character occurs, a resolve to do better develops, and a new dream is birthed.
When I suffered from hyperemesis gravidarum, I lived for the day when I could eat again. I dreamed of vomit-free nights, a life filled with people, of a beautiful baby to cuddle. All of those wonderful dreams have come to pass, and they will come for you, too. Right now, you are probably slogging through each day and night, laying as still as you can in the hope that you won’t throw up again. I’m sure that you, as I did, were often unable to think past the nausea.
So today, allow yourself to dream of the future. Use that dream to push you forward. Keep pressing on. When your hyperemesis gravidarum goes away, and it will, life will not magically become easier, and it won’t turn into a slice of perfection. You will face another set of challenges. But your health will improve. You will hold your child in your arms. And you will have forged a strength of spirit unimaginable.
I’m a big sci-fi fan. Something about the unknown fascinates and terrifies me. But it’s a good curiosity, a safe fear, because I expect little in the world of science fiction to ever happen. When I suffered from hyperemesis gravidarum, I faced a different kind of unknown. Why couldn’t I keep any food down? Why would my body reject even drinking water? Would my baby survive? These fears were not safe because they were real, and they terrified me.
Recently, I viewed a trailer for Will Smith’s upcoming scifi film, After Earth. The story of two soldiers lost on a dangerous planet, facing unbelievable odds, must survive. Sounds fun. The voiceover, however, struck something deep inside my mind. Smith’s character says, “if we are going to survive this, you must realize that fear is not real. It is a product of thoughts you create… danger is very real, but fear is a choice.”
Think about that for a moment. Is fear a choice? Yes, fear is an instinctual reaction we have to danger. In some situations, it can be very healthy and help us protect ourselves. Yet the fear I felt while suffering through my hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancy– on the bad days, when I lay in bed crying, weak, and so very nauseous– was not healthy. I tried to remind myself that my doctors (and I had a team helping me through my hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancy), said the baby was doing well. But these logical thoughts seldom overcame the fear that overwhelmed me.
Toward the end of my pregnancy, I remember discussing my zofran pump with my doctor in her examination room. Suddenly, I felt faint. I passed out, had what I felt was at least a forty-five minute dream in which I road different rides at a sea-side carnival, and then woke up to my doctor saying my name. I instantly became terrified and started to cry. When I asked what happened, my doctor said that I had just had “a little seizure.” I had been out for less than a minute. I was so worried that the seizure would have somehow hurt my baby. Luckily, he was fine. But as my pregnancy continued, the sharp memory of that fear stabbed at my mind. It was growing stronger. I knew that I had to fight to overcome my fearful thoughts. Some days I was successful. Other days, I failed terribly.
Having survived a hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancy, I feel qualified (at least on some level), to give those who are in the midst of suffering some advice. So here it is, dear ones. Will Smith is right: fear isn’t real. It is a product of our thoughts. It is a choice. Sometimes, that choice is made for you by your body’s instinctual reaction to danger and the unknown. When that happens, recognize what you’re feeling. Try to understand why you’re afraid. Know that it’s okay to be scared. But don’t wallow in fear. When you feel unable to overcome those emotions, it’s time to start fighting. How can you do that when you’re an exhausted, vommity mess?
Start with distraction. Immerse your mind in something else. Browse online stores for baby clothes, listen to a book on cd, call a friend, or watch a comedy. Districting your mind is a great way to give it rest.
Next, gather information. When I was pregnant, I read every blog, every journal article, every website about hyperemesis gravidarum I could find. The unknown is always scary, so the more you learn about what’s going on with your body the quieter your fears will become. Forget about being annoying and call your nurse, doctor, a psychologist—anyone who can offer you information— three times a day if you need to. You’ve got one of the toughest jobs known to humanity: carrying a child. If you need to know something, do not hesitate to ask.
And lastly, be cognizant of the tiny moments when things are okay. It may seem like life is a constant, grueling, miserable experience. Even so, look for the good: feeling a kick, going a day without vomiting, being able to eat a potato. Notice these times and remember them. Write them down on post-it notes if it will help. And when you’re feeling scared, recall those moments and know that you will have them again. Hyperemesis gravidarum comes with an array of complicated and miserable symptoms. It’s downright awful. But it is survivable, and you are a survivor. You will do anything you need to produce a healthy baby. That may mean facing your fears of blood draws, medicine pumps, PICC lines, and even hospitalization, but if that’s what it takes to keep your child alive you will do it. And you can do it.
Help others by sharing some of the fears you face. How do you overcome them?
With hyperemesis gravidarum in the news, I’ve been feeling convicted to share my journey. However, this is easier said than done. For a while I’ve known that I need to share more than the snippets I’ve included on this blog. So why have I hesitated?
It’s more than writer’s block. It’s fear. If I put my hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancy into words, it suddenly makes the nightmare that was last year more real. Writing my story means reaching inside, waking a person who wants to hit the snooze button just a little longer. I’ve talked about those months plenty, but writing is somehow more real, more honest, more raw.
Not only does hyperemesis gravidarum damage your body, it devastates your emotional being. It takes time to heal. Perhaps writing my story will help. Until I’m ready to face that task, I’ll continue to offer encouragement to anyone who is struggling.
Today, dear sisters in suffering, that encouragement is written by Amber, a fellow hg survivor. It is these stories like these that helped me hold on during my pregnancy, and I am hoping that her words help you as well. Please read her story, and let me know if you have a story you’d like to share.
Last year, Thanksgiving brought a beautiful meal prepared by– still can’t believe it myself– my wonderful husband. Because I had hyperemesis gravidarum, I promptly threw it up.
We’ve all been there. We want so much to be normal, to eat food, to visit with friends and family. But something about the oppressive nausea, excessive spit, and overwhelming fatigue that accompanies hyperemesis gravidarum nullifies any chance at even a slice of normal.
This Thanksgiving, I looked forward to a visit from my parents, and cooking a huge dinner. What happened? I was sick with one of the worst sinus infections ever known to humankind. It was a repeat of last year, in so many terrible ways. Since I’ve recovered from hyperemesis gravidarum, I’ve grown stronger. Sore throat? No problem. Sleep deprivation? Bring it on! But something about being sick on Thanksgiving brought it all back. Another holiday where I was sick? Excuse my profanity, but damn it. Damn it all to hell.
In between the fuzzy haze of sleep, when I had a few lucid moments in which my sinuses did not feel weighted down by a hot anvil, I was able to visit with my loved ones. At my lowest point, when I could barely talk because my throat was on fire and I didn’t have the energy to lift my head, my husband reminded me of how it was last year. Yes, I was sick, but last year I had an iv. Yes, I was sad, but last year I was scared that our child might not live. His words didn’t do much at first, but after another coma-like nap, I felt a little better. He was right. Things were better.
And I want to tell you, my sisters in suffering, that things will get better, too. You will need to be strong, you will need to slog through the remaining days of your pregnancy. But once you recover, you, too will be stronger. I can’t promise you that you will never face illness again. But I can promise you that this illness, this soul-crushing, stomach-roiling, and spit-inducing condition will not last. So hold on. Just one more day, dear ones. And look forward to future holidays, which will not (hopefully) be full of sickness.
Sometimes, we only focus on part of a quote. Doing so often robs us of valuable information. Take Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous statement on fear: “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.” We are all familiar with the first part of that quote, but how many of us know the rest of the sentence?
Fear is indeed nameless, unreasoning, and unjustified terror. And it does have the power to paralyze us. So let me encourage you, dear sisters who are suffering with hyperemesis gravidarum, to fight any fear you might feel in your life. Before I was diagnosed with hg, I was terrified. I thought I was starving, and that my child would not survive. How did I combat that fear? Information. I spent a lot of time researching hyperemesis gravidarum and talking to my doctor, nurses, and other moms I found online. Some days, knowing what was going on was helpful.
Yet other days, the fear stemmed from the lack of control I had over my body. I did indeed feel paralyzed. Some days, I there was nothing I could do to make things better. That sense of powerlessness is terrifying. How did I combat that fear? Mostly by reaching out to those in my life who cared. Once a week I dragged myself to a counselor. Talking about it, sometimes ad nauseum (pun intended), seemed to help.
One of the hardest parts of struggling through a hyperemesis pregnancy is fighting the fear. But doing so is an essential part of survival, hg mama. Do not retreat. Do not let fear rule your life. You are stronger than that. Combat your fright by seeking information, connecting with someone who cares, and continuing to hold on. You are doing this for your child. You are doing this for yourself. It is grueling, horrific, and takes everything you have, but you have to hold on. Believe me, the fight is worth it.
I have a confession: this is the second day in a row that I haven’t brushed my hair. Am I embarrassed? Maybe a little. But my life as an equation = newborn, + full-time job + housework. Added up, and I find a deficit of time to take care of things.
As I thought about my hair, pulled together atop my head in what my wishful thinking brain hopes is a sophisticated, bohemian-type bun, I recalled this time last year, when I was suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum. I had just started experiencing vaso-vagal episodes (fainting), carpal and tarsal tunnel, and the never-ending excess saliva induced vomiting sessions. My life was miserable.
Sure, I had hope. I understood that the hyperemesis gravidarum would eventually go away. I could feel my child’s little kicks and smile at the thought of holding him in my arms. But when you’re a dehydrated, medicated, vomiting mess, it’s hard to be happy. I had no choice but to stop caring about my hair, clothes, and housework. What was important was to find a way to get through each day so that I could deliver a healthy child.
If you’re at this point, I want you to know that you’re not alone. Many women understand how you feel. How do you deal? Grit your teeth, dig your feet in, and hold on. Push away the worry over your hair, the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since last week, and the spit bucket near your bed. It’s not easy to let go but you’re struggling with a serious medical condition. Think about what’s truly important, dear hg mama, and focus on that. You’ll have plenty of time to worry about your hair after the baby is born. Maybe.
This morning, I saw a t-shirt that inspired the heck out of me. It was a Nike shirt that said, “Just do it: Every Damn Day.” I don’t often swear, but as someone who has survived the living hell of hyperemesis gravidarum, I could connect with the sentiment behind this slogan.
Unfortunately, when you have hyperemesis gravidarum, you have no choice but to just do it. Every day. However, we do have a choice about how we respond to this condition. There is no way to sugar-coat it: hyperemesis gravidarum stinks. It’s debilitating, painful, worrying, and just plain depressing. Yes, it goes away. Yes, you will have a wonderful child. But while you’re in the midst of it, it’s really hard to think of the positive outcome.
When I was at my worst while pregnant, I felt that my standard of living dropped significantly. The house was a mess, I struggled to get out of bed, and I had no relationships with my friends anymore. The isolation was rough. I found my mindset changed from thriving to surviving. Forcing myself to eat- when I knew it would probably come back up later. Forcing myself to take medicine- even though I was scared it would affect my child. Forcing myself to keep going- the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my life. And for me, surviving was just doing it—trying my best to take care of myself and my unborn child. Every damn day.
It’s true: life is very unfair. At times it’s wonderful, at times it’s awful. And since I’ve been diagnosed with kidney stones it’s been painful. After five lithotripsies, I believe my doctor has finally blasted the stone away. The past week has been fraught with nausea, constipation, and pain. I haven’t been able to properly take care of my son. He’s reached out to me with his tiny two-year-old arms and buddha belly and said “Mom, down!” (his way to getting me off the bed and onto the floor to play cars). I’ve had to decline.
Hyperemesis Gravidarum Survivor 